Stalking Trout in Small Streamsby Marcel Terblanche

Stalking trout in remote small streams is the ultimate for me. It satisfies all the things I have ever desired from fly-fishing. Make no mistake, I have had loads of fun fishing for other species over the years, but 90 percent of 25 years has been dedicated to stalking trout on the small trout streams in the mountains and forests of the southern and western cape.

I have always been passionate about trout and special secluded waters, the idea of flogging full length lines all day in the salt or popping bass bugs in the neighbourhood pond just lost its appeal to me in my student years already. It’s that classic painted image from those early 1900’s outdoor journals with a trout fisherman knee deep in a rushing Rocky Mountain stream about to bring a trout to net that appeals to me, the embodiment of the romance and true spirit of being an outdoorsman, the very essence of being a soul fly fisher and trout bum.

I’m sure many of you will agree that trout fishing is a genuinely artistic pursuit. Every aspect of it exudes art to some extent. The

landscapes and environs we stalk trout in are dream palettes of fantastic colours and sounds. Fragrant mountain herbs and grasses deck the valleys with colourful splashes of wildflowers between, the birdsong in the summer fynbos is as enticing as the movements of a bushbuck quenching its thirst beside an ancient fern in a deep forest stream. Each stream has its own fingerprint and character and the trout that live there are unique and individually painted by natures brush. The tackle we use on small streams is beautifully crafted, pleasing to the eye and feels good in our hands. Completing the painting is the very artful act of deception, presenting our feathered creations as though we are weaving a spell with our wand.

Naturally this romantic visualisation probably won’t appeal to all fly fishermen, especially those who just fish to catch fish. Also many of our younger generation and neophytes to trout fishing haven’t yet had the chance to experience the true beauty and wildness of it all. The emphasis in modern fly fishing has become more about the specialised tackle,

gadgetry and competition and less about mentoring and cultivating good traditions in outdoorsmanship and appreciation of nature. It must be terribly confusing for a 13 year old to start fly-fishing today, where does he or she even start, just choosing a rod must be an awful decision making process with all the convenient choices and flashy brands with equally bling price tags advertised on every second social media page. My best friend and I grew up on a legendary South African trout stream, the Eerste River. We learnt stream craft

the hard way; Afternoons after school were spent studying trout habits in the Eerste river rather than our mathematics text books.

Growing up back then, we never had access to the CPS waters or the clubs fantastic library and resources that Capetonian trout fisherman had. We had to dig for information on how to do things and then put them to the test on the stream. Occasionally CNA would have grand overseas fly magazines and the Stellenbosch Libraries set of Joe Humphreys video cassettes saw the most play through my mom's VHS player and likely got worn out quite a bit, because Joe’s speech became slurred and the visuals grew wonky.

Of course we had access to the writings and fly patterns of South African small stream legends Ed herbst, Tom Sutcliffe and Tony Biggs whose stream craft we read about and studied in this very magazines first editions in the early 90’s. They were our tutors in trout and their guidance laid the foundation for us to build on. I am so grateful that we learnt that way though, the struggle was real and we experienced so many facets of trout fishing that are almost non-existent today. We also learnt to tie flies on our own and how to build the perfect stream fishing leaders. Many a fly rod and reel were modified and we engineered our own unique rods for the stream. One of my favourite reels for small streams was a modified Shakespeare reel. In those days they only cost about R50 and they were duly brought back to the workshop to be modified and machined by grinder and file to create a small diameter lightweight stream reel. They looked great and felt great but didn’t always work so great, nonetheless they withstood the rigours of our weekend missions up the river.

Things progress as you get older and over the years being on stream becomes second nature, a calling to be there more than a desire or need. Techniques and tactics became refined and almost minimalist, 20 years ago I chucked my fly vest out and settled on a more traditional trout bag that held my few tackle items, a streamside lunch and a rain jacket in case of an adverse change in weather. No one really needs a third of the paraphernalia that inhabit some anglers fly vests. Times on stream are precious so being bogged down by heavy fly vests and unnecessary stuff is just unpleasant in my experience.

My kit now for any day on a stream includes 3 tippet spools, my fly box, Mucilin, floatant and some indicator material and a spare furled leader which all fits into a compact leather trout bag; my rod and reel, and of course, my leather hat.

My fly box reflects that minimalist approach and I have a handful of trusted patterns that over time have proven their worth packed into one small hand-sized fly box. I love fishing fly patterns which in my mind are taken by the trout as the real thing. I don’t enjoy fishing attractor and trigger type flies anymore, when I present my offering to the trout I want to see it take the fly knowing that it really saw an ant drifting on the surface. It has become all about the stealthy stalk and ultimately the sweet deception realised at the take. There are a handful of very special streams where I like to dwell and fish.

There are a handful of very special streams where I like to dwell and fish. Some of them I’ve known for most of my life and others not so long, but either way they are unique and secluded and don’t see too much of humanity. Nowadays I fish alone mostly; it’s my quiet time, my meditation, a Shangri La away from the unrealities of so-called real life. It’s the very art in the painting of the rocky mountain angler that resonates with me.